


metal pipes

by escapismandsharpobjects



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: "Don't try to pin this on me", Concussions, Father-Son Relationship, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, original characters but like for a second, this is whump but its like. sweet. idk.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29570106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escapismandsharpobjects/pseuds/escapismandsharpobjects
Summary: febuwhump day 19: "don't try to pin this on me" (alt no.6)“Hey, you okay?” Peter asks, or at any rate, that’s the best approximation of what he says that Neal’s ringing ears are able to make out.Ugh...definitely not okay. He cannotbelievethat this has happened to him. It feels like something that might happen in a cartoon. He imagines little birds and stars floating around his head, and turns his blurry gaze to Peter’s face, and the offending piece of metal pipe behind it. He scowls at the pipe, wanting irrationally to get up and punch it.
Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	metal pipes

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! im back to wc its been a minute but i will always love these 2. this is set pretty well into the show, probably s3 or s4. hope you enjoy!

“I’m missing dinner with June for this,” Neal grumbles, holding the door for Peter. 

“And I’m very sorry she’s missing your sparkling presence,” Peter replies, stepping through the door and flashing his badge to a security guard. “Maybe think about things like this the next time you decide to get yourself arrested.”

Neal spins and looks at him, mock affronted.  _ “Low blow, _ Agent Burke.”

The two make their way through the apartment of the lobby towards the elevators. Around them, other agents begin coming into the building, overwhelming the poor security guard, who fights a losing battle of attempting to check everyone’s credentials. 

Peter and Neal step into the elevator just as the guard sinks helplessly down onto a bench, head in hands. 

“Poor guy,” Neal remarks, pressing the button for the top floor. 

Peter reaches over him and presses the button marked ‘5’ instead. 

“Can’t we go to the top first?” Neal asks. “I hear there’s a restaurant up there with amazing views of the city.”

_ “Right,  _ an amazing restaurant that’s part of an apartment building being used to run a massive counterfeiting operation.”

“Still,” Neal complains, “it wouldn’t hurt to just take a look.”

Peter relents as the elevator opens onto the fifth floor. “Fine. After all of this is done.”

Neal seems happy enough about that prospect, and the two of them step into the hallway. 

“Lovely place,” says Neal, stepping over an empty can of paint. 

“This is the only floor currently under renovation,” Peter says, “and apart from the basement it’s most likely to be the center of operation for the entire thing.”

“And we’re here alone.”

“Other agents are coming up in a minute. Besides, these guys already know we’re here, and I’ve dealt with their ringleader before. He’ll run, not fight.”

“Great,” Neal says, not sounding much like he believes this. Apparently, though, he accepts it, and follows Peter down the dimly-lit hall, stepping over various construction materials and ducking the occasional piece of exposed pipe. 

\--

Neal’s a few feet behind Peter when the agent steps around a corner, then quickly sticks his head back around it. “Found something,” he says, and Neal hurries after him. 

Peter has indeed found something. Several somethings, in fact, in a hallway that’s curiously devoid of the construction materials that litter the rest of the floor. A stack of counterfeit purses, some kind of large machine that Neal’s seen before in operations like this, and a safe with its door open. 

“Nothing in it,” Peter says, gesturing towards the safe. “And they didn’t take their bags.”

“Or unplug their machine,” Neal adds, as he pulls its cord from the wall. 

“They left in a hurry.”

“They could still be nearby.”

Peter radios this information to the rest of the team as the two of them continue down the hallway. 

“Watch your head,” Peter warns Neal, ducking underneath a metal pipe stretching across the hall. 

They reach the end of the hallway, which splits off into two directions. Neal looks down one, and Peter down the other. 

There’s movement at the end of his hallway, slightly obscured by the reemergence of the construction stuff, but visibly human. 

“Peter,” Neal hisses, trying not to let whoever it is know they’re there. 

“What?” Peter hisses back, coming to stand next to him. 

“Look,” he whispers, pointing to the movement.

Peter draws his gun. Neal keeps his eyes trained on the figure. 

Who must suddenly see them, because they start running. 

Neal takes off after them without a second of hesitation, hearing Peter shout behind him but ignoring him. He’ll catch this person. He  _ will.  _

He’s gaining on them slowly but surely, coming within a few feet as the two of them skid around a corner. He’s so close…

He looks back to Peter, several yards behind him, for just a second, to make sure he’s coming, then turns his attention fully back to his chase - 

And, too late, to the piece of metal pipe in front of him. 

He slams into the pipe at full speed, head colliding with a resonating metallic sound. The taste of blood fills his mouth almost immediately, and his ears start to ring as his forehead bursts into an explosion of pain. 

He stumbles to the ground in the shock of it all, the world spinning around him. He blinks to try and clear his head, and then the blurry shape of Peter is crouching in front of him. 

“Hey, you okay?” Peter asks, or at any rate, that’s the best approximation of what he says that Neal’s ringing ears are able to make out. 

_ Ugh... _ definitely not okay. He cannot  _ believe  _ that this has happened to him. It feels like something that might happen in a cartoon. He imagines little birds and stars floating around his head, and turns his blurry gaze to Peter’s face, and the offending piece of metal pipe behind it. He scowls at the pipe, wanting irrationally to get up and punch it.

\--

Peter had been running as fast as he could behind Neal, who’d been  _ incredibly stupid _ to just run after a potential suspect like that. Nevertheless, he’d been grateful, considering the lead Neal and the suspect both had had on him. 

The two had turned a corner, Peter hurrying along behind them. Neal had turned around to look at him a second after Peter had shouted a warning about the piece of metal pipe in front of him, and had then promptly run straight into it. 

Which brings them here, Peter kneeling worriedly by his CI’s side. Neal’s looking at him, though his eyes are unfocused, and he’s got this look of utter betrayal and anger on his face that’s  _ definitely  _ out of proportion for the situation, which is both funny and weirdly endearing. It’s also clearly not directed at Peter, he knows, turning around to see the piece of pipe directly behind him, dotted with a few small specks of blood. 

He turns back to Neal, whose gaze has not wavered, but is again aimed in Peter’s direction. 

“Don’t try to pin this on me, now,” Peter warns, grabbing a small flashlight from his jacket and turning it on, shining it into Neal’s eyes. 

“Cut it out,” Neal whines, turning his head away from the light. 

“I need to make sure the concussion that you almost certainly have isn’t too serious before I call for help,” Peter explains, gently guiding Neal’s face to once again look at him. 

Neal scowls again, a less severe version of the look he’d been giving the pipe, this time directed solely at Peter.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, shining the light back into Neal’s eyes. “It’ll just take a second.”

He flicks off the flashlight as soon as he’s satisfied that both of Neal’s pupils are the same size. That, coupled with the fact that he’s conscious, though groggy and grouchy, makes Peter reasonably sure that his head injury is mild, moderate at worst. 

He radios for help, which Neal, predictably, balks at.

“I can  _ walk, _ Peter,” he says, and attempts to stand to prove his point. 

He’s pitching forwards almost immediately, and Peter shoots to his feet to grab him before he hits the ground and hurts himself more. 

“Sure you can,” Peter replies, guiding the two of them back to the ground. “Just like you can avoid giant metal pipes.”

“Hey!” Neal protests. “‘S not my fault I turned around to look at you. You said something.”

“I  _ said, _ watch out for that pipe.”

“Oh.”

Peter reaches out and touches a gentle hand to the blood on Neal’s forehead. As with most head wounds, this one is small, but bleeding a lot, and Peter wipes away some of the blood with his cuff to keep it away from Neal’s eyes. Neal winces and pulls away, then looks at Peter’s hand with confusion evident on his face.

“‘M bleeding?” Hands quickly reach for his head, and Peter pulls them away with his non-bloody hand. 

“It’s just a cut, Neal,” he reassures. “Nothing to worry about.”

Neal relents easily, dropping his hands down to the floor. It’s clear he’s pretty out of it, and Peter hopes the paramedics will arrive soon. Right now, Neal’s not feeling the full effects of having slammed into a metal pipe at full speed - he’s in a little bit of a daze, obviously hurting, but not nearly as much as Peter bets he will, once the initial shock wears off. He’d like for Neal to have some painkillers already in him when that happens. 

A minute or two later, a few paramedics come hurrying up to them, bustling Neal onto a stretcher, which he attempts a rather feeble protest at. They push him into the elevator, Peter walking next to him, speaking into his radio. 

“We’ve caught a suspect fleeing the building,” someone says, in response to Peter’s call. “Saw him climbing down the fire escape on the fifth floor. Dressed in a security guard’s uniform, pockets are full of money.”

“You hear that?” Peter asks Neal, as the elevator opens to the ground floor. “They caught him.”

Neal nods. “Knew I’d get him,” he mutters under his breath. Peter stifles a laugh, patting Neal softly on the shoulder. 

“Good work, buddy.”

“Aww, thanks,” Neal replies, with a self-satisfied grin. The paramedics stop them outside the doors of the building, helping Neal to sit on the back bumper of the ambulance, whereupon they begin to do various checks on Neal to make sure he’s not too concussed, and bandage his cut. 

As Peter’d figured, _ hoped, _ he’s fine - a mild concussion, treatment for which is a few days off of work, some better-than-over-the-counter pain meds courtesy of the paramedics, an ice pack, and someone to watch over him for 48 hours. 

“That would be me and my wife,” Peter tells the paramedics immediately after they pose the question of who exactly will be watching over him. Neal looks up at Peter from where he’s sitting, like he’s not sure he’d heard him correctly. 

“You’re coming home with me, understand?” Peter asks, offering Neal a hand up and a silently-given shoulder to lean onto. 

“Got it,” Neal says. “Thank you, Peter,” he adds, after a beat, voice soft and a little slurred, leaning into Peter a bit more. 

“Anytime,” Peter says, and he genuinely means it.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading!!!! if you read this i hope you have the best weekend :) love you! <3


End file.
